A Very Enjoyable Holiday
by conclusivelead
Summary: Draco Malfoy discovers that the only thing more enjoyable than fighting with Harry Potter is snogging Harry Potter. "Since when did he want to snog Harry Potter, anyway? Oh, well." DRARRY/oneshot.


**s.t.b says**: The sequel to "Horrible, Uncontrollable, Perfect" as requested. :D I suppose this COULD be taken as its own story, but it might be a good idea to read "H,U,P" first.

This was written surprisingly quickly. Usually it takes me forever to churn out a fic, even one shots, but this one kind of sprang into being all by itself. Be warned – it's fluffy, it's slashy, and I didn't have a beta. Shy!Harry is so much fun to write.

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**A Very Enjoyable Holiday.**

Draco Malfoy was not pleased. All things considered, there really was little reason to be so completely upset, but that hadn't ever stopped him before and he'd be damned if he stopped feeling sorry for himself over something like that. Morose and rather annoyed, the blond watched as his fellow classmates began boarding the Hogwarts Express. The hustle and bustle only served to worsen his already bad attitude. If things had only been different, Draco would have been one of many in the great crowds…but things were not, sadly, different, and Draco was not going back to Malfoy Manor for the Christmas holiday.

As students moved around him excitedly, Draco thought back on his father's letter and the explanation within. "_'You will stay at Hogwarts over the holiday. Your mother and I have business to attend to and therefore will not be home to cater to you, so it will just be easier for everyone if you remain at school. We'll see you at the end of the year.'_" And that had been it. Not much in the way of explanations, but Draco had taken it in stride; that is, he'd thrown a bit of a temper tantrum and then ripped the letter to shreds before dumping the remains in the common room fire.

He was used to getting what he wanted – and staying in this place even a moment longer than was actually necessary was **not** what Draco wanted.

Sighing, the Slytherin stuck his hands into his pockets and rolled his eyes as the train's whistle went off. There was no need for him to be here, other than to glare at those that were departing until New Year's. This, of course, had been therapeutic to the aggravated blond, but he found that scowling at excited first years had not quite made him feel like his old self just yet. Before the train could roll away, Draco spun on his heel to head back up to the castle…and crashed into someone.

"Look where you're – oh. Potter."

It hadn't been too long ago that running face-first into the Boy Wonder would have been just enough reason to start throwing hexes and insults, but all the old enmity that had been bunched up inside of Draco for so long seemed to have faded to something else as of late. Whereas a few months ago he would have gone off in a rant right proper, these days he would have much preferred a different sort of conversation with the flushed Gryffindor. One with less talking and more actual snogging.

Speaking of flushed Gryffindors…Harry was giving Draco a strange look, and the lithe boy realized he had been staring. Staring – also something he'd taken to doing a lot more recently and usually in Potter's general direction, as well. Silver eyes glinting, the light-haired boy watched as his childhood rival's hands moved about uncomfortably, as though he was unsure of what to do with them. Finally, he mirrored Draco and buried them into the pockets of his jeans.

Draco found himself unexplainably charmed by this simple action. The brunet looked distinctly uncomfortable, as though something was bothering him. In fact, when Malfoy thought back to their last meeting, he'd acted quite similarly. Of course, Draco had still been confused by his feelings toward the Gryffindor at their last meeting, and their little run-in hadn't exactly ended in the hot make-out session Draco found himself desiring.

Huh. Strange, that. Since when did Draco Malfoy want to snog Harry Potter, anyway?

Oh, well.

"Is something _wrong_ with you, Malfoy?" Potter's tone was distinctly…well, actually Draco couldn't decide what exactly lay beneath the tremor in those words. He sounded like he was trying his best to be as nasty as possible, but there obviously wasn't any real fervor there. It both intrigued and confused him.

Before he replied to Potter's question, Draco thought back over the last six months or so and everything that may have happened to so drastically change his opinion of Harry Potter. He couldn't really pin it to any specific date or event. In fact, it seemed more like there had been less interaction between the two of them in the year thus far than Draco could ever recall from before.

So this…thing…inside of Draco that had been forcing him to stare at the dark-haired boy during class, or in the Great Hall, or even during Quidditch…it felt almost like attraction.

Which, really, was quite ridiculous, because Draco was as straight as – oh, the way Potter's chest filled out his white button-down really was quite marvelous, wasn't it?

"Wrong?" Draco almost had to force himself to glance from Potter's chest to his face. Which was, he noticed unconsciously, still deliciously flushed. "No, Potter, there is nothing wrong with me." Suddenly, a thought occurred to the Slytherin. "Shouldn't you have been on the train home with Granger and the Weasel? What's wrong? Get tired of watching them make goo-goo eyes at each other?"

The shot at Potter's friends was on his lips before he realized what he was saying.

Draco took a private delight in the way the green of Potter's eyes lit up with rage. "Piss off, Malfoy," the dark-haired boy snapped hotly, fists emerging from his pockets to clench into fists of rage at his sides.

The blond couldn't help himself: "What, is that all, Potter? It's been too long since our last little coup, it seems; you're getting rusty."

That private delight Draco had been so shamelessly enjoying developed into something a little less private when Harry's hands came up to clench at the front of Draco's shirt. He could feel the warmth of Harry's fingers through the cloth, and they felt like nothing else he'd ever experienced. The Slytherin briefly wondered if Harry felt something similar raging inside his stomach. Slightly shocked at the intensity of it all, Draco didn't put up a fight when Potter shoved him forward a bit and then pulled him back by his collar. The sudden movement jarred him, but the vertigo was forgotten when Harry said, "Merlin, Malfoy, why do you have to be such a prick?!"

And Draco's lips, his godforsaken lips, were moving, replying with, "Why does it bother you so much if it's not true?"

To this Potter gave no reply. He just continued to glare angrily up into Draco's face, and the blond again noticed how tempted he was to just lean over and press his lips to Harry's. _Alright, Draco, enough with the thoughts of snogging the Boy Who Lived_, he sternly told himself, but continued to stare at Potter's mouth with something close to obsession. It would be so easy, he realized, just to steal a quick taste; likely that Potter would be too shocked to move at first, so…

And Draco suspected that if Potter hadn't chosen that moment to release him, he would've done just that.

Green eyes still glowing, Potter spat out, "Stay away from me, Malfoy!" and stepped back, probably to storm back up to the castle.

"That's a two-way street, that is," Draco scoffed, smoothing out his clothes and straightening up with infuriatingly careful movements. Once he was sure that his appearance was again impeccable, Draco looked up and met the blazing gaze with a smirk and a gleam in his silver eyes. It looked as though the shorter boy was too enraged to speak, and Draco took full advantage. "So you'll be staying here for the holiday, then?"

The sudden change in atmosphere threw him for a loop; Harry nodded without really thinking about it.

The Slytherin nodded as well, hands on the lapels of his shirt once more. Draco searched hurriedly for something else to say, if only for the opportunity to watch Potter's lips move in response. "What, no invitations to spend Christmas with the Weasel's family?" There was no reaction, so Draco added mischievously, "What, something…more interesting…keeping you here?"

And then the strangest thing happened – Potter's face turned bright red and the retort he'd no doubt been preparing to throw back in Draco's face was never voiced. Draco grinned, no longer in doubt; that constant blush was suddenly not nearly as bewildering and much, much more enticing.

"Oh-ho, correctly guessed twice in one day," the blond boy teased, lips curling upward as he took delight in the way the shorter boy was now avoiding his eyes. He bent slightly at the waist, hands clasped behind his back. Harry retreated accordingly, taking two steps back for every inch of distance lost. "Care to expand?"

Obviously embarrassed, Harry rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"Come, now, Potter, avoiding the question isn't going to make it go away," Draco persuaded, taking another step forward and narrowing his eyes. He tried to keep his rampaging emotions from being too noticeable, but the adorable blush in Harry's cheeks was making it increasingly difficult.

"I just didn't…er…wasn't feeling up to…that is…." The flush deepened and Draco marveled that the Gryffindor wasn't feeling light-headed with all the blushing he'd been doing in the last few minutes. "This is ridiculous; I don't have to explain myself to you, Malfoy."

Potter turned to leave, but Draco reached out and looped eager fingers about the brunet's thin wrist. "What, leaving so soon?" There was a husky edge to Malfoy's voice that surprised even him, and he was once again filled with thoughts of Potter, dark hallways, and empty classrooms.

The platform was completely empty but for the two sixth years, and Draco was having a very hard time resisting the urge to push the Gryffindor up against the nearest wall and snog him senseless. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more and more absurd it felt to keep denying himself what he so blatantly wanted. What was the worst thing that could happen? A hex? A curse? Draco had dealt with a fair share of misguided spells in his day, and it seemed a small price to pay for just one, small taste….

Fed up, the Slytherin rolled his eyes and announced, "This is bollocks!" before twisting his hands into Harry's shirtfront and dragging him backward until they collided with a wall.

"What the h-" Potter began to protest loudly, but Draco quickly interrupted by leaning down and pressing his lips onto the soft ones beneath him. Despite whatever consequences might ensue, this did effectively cut off Potter's rant and left Draco feeling smug. Finally, the great Harry Potter was silenced, left speechless, and by none other than Draco Malfoy. It would have been a victory worth celebrating even if the feel of Potter's mouth beneath his hadn't been maddeningly sweet.

After a few seconds and no further reaction from the shorter boy, Draco backed away a little to brush his lips insistently across Potter's, enticing him to just forget about their supposed hatred, even it was only until he'd been suitably snogged.

Hesitantly, Harry began to reciprocate by opening his mouth slightly and returning the pressure; duly encouraged, Draco's hands slipped from Harry's shirtfront. One wrapped itself around the back of the brunet's neck and the other he buried within the Gryffindor's dark hair. Using the hand he held at Potter's neck, Draco drew the other boy closer, slipping his tongue between his lips to slide along the soft bottom lip teasingly. A breathy moan met Draco's ears and he grinned against Potter's mouth, thoroughly satisfied.

It was over much too soon; Potter was pushing at his chest and jerking his neck from Malfoy's iron grip. "Wh…what…? That…." Ah. A speechless Harry Potter was a Harry Potter that Draco could easily grow accustomed to.

Smirking, Draco lifted his hand to brush a strand of dark hair out of the shorter boy's face, eyes promising further ravishing. Ignoring Potter's stuttering, he slanted his mouth over Harry's once again, this time with less apprehension and a great deal more intent.

Draco had a feeling that this was going to be a very, very enjoyable holiday.

END


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